Chapter 119 Ch. 89
Lorenzo was burning away. He wasn't combusting all at once; he was slowly turning to ash from the inside out. His eyes were wide and filled with a shock that would never fade. He looked at Ethan for a single second, his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something, but then his head fell forward and he went still.
“Father?” Ethan whispered, his voice cracking.
He took a step toward the wall, but he didn't touch him. He just stood there, watching as the man who had controlled his entire life turned into a gray pile of dust on the floor.
Zara stood behind him, her hand going to her mouth. She didn't like Lorenzo, and she had spent every day wishing she could get away from him, but seeing him die like this was a shock that made her feel cold.
The sound of footsteps filled the hallway. “Do not touch that,” Imogen said, her voice cutting through the quiet of the study. She stepped past Ethan and looked at the black, bubbling mess on the floor.
“He is an Original,” Ethan whispered, his hand shaking as he looked at the gray ash. “This liquid… it is for the turned. It is for those who are not like him. Why did it work?”
“I do not know. But it’s not just Aeuthrin,” Imogen replied, kneeling down to look at the wood. She did not touch it, but she hovered her fingers over the spot where the stake had fallen off and clattered to the ground. “Someone changed the formula. It should not be active on a daywalker. It should have just felt like water to him.”
“Then they knew,” Ethan said, his heart hitting his ribs hard. “They knew exactly how to kill him. They did not just come to fight and take Zara. They came to execute him.”
“Well, Lorenzo is the one protecting her, so they might as well get rid of him.”
“But it’s… He’s not supposed to—”
“They are working closely with someone from the Veiled,” Imogen murmured, sniffing the air. “Only we can do that.”
“A forced alliance? Or a willing one?” Zara asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Willing.” Imogen stood up and sighed. “A Veiled won’t work for you unless they are willing.”
“So it’s to kill me then? Not for powers?”
“Depends on which individual it is.”
Ethan, on the other hand, kept looking at the empty spot on the wall. He had spent so much of his life hating the man who practically lived in this room. He had called him a monster and a psycho every chance he got. But now that the man was just a pile of dust, there was a sickening feeling.
“Sir,” a voice said from the hallway.
Ethan turned around. A group of guards stood there. They were covered in blood and their clothes were ripped, but they did not look at the ash on the floor. They looked at him.
One by one, they dropped to their knees. Even the older men, the ones who had been with Lorenzo since before Ethan was born, bowed their heads low. They stayed there in a long line, their eyes fixed on the floor.
“Please, get up,” Ethan said, his voice cracking. He did not want them to bow. He wanted them to tell him what to do because he wasn’t exactly sure where to start. Sure, his father had always involved him in every dealing, but he always found a way to avoid certain responsibilities, and now, it was going to come back to haunt him.
“You are the head of the house now,” one of the guards said, not looking up. “We wait for your command.”
Ethan felt a sudden, sick feeling in his stomach. He looked at their tired faces and their bloody hands. He realized then that his father’s cruelty had not really been a choice. Lorenzo had been a psycho because it kept these men in line and also kept them alive. He had been a monster so that other clans would stay away and be fearful of the Moreaus. He was the wall that kept the world from breaking in.
And now, the wall was gone. Everything—the safety of these men, the life of the clan, the protection of Zara—it was all on him. He could not just be a boy who loved racing anymore. If he was not strong and didn’t lead the clan properly, they would all be turned into ash just like his father.
He wasn’t sure exactly where to even start.
There was nothing to bury—hell, he didn’t even know if it could be cleaned up without it killing any of them.
He had to review security; that was for certain.
And there was something whispering to him that there was a traitor in their midst.
Lorenzo had been so thorough with every goddamn thing he did, so for this to have happened...
Then there were the businesses that kept the clan moving.
The vineyards they owned, and worst of all, the drug cartels and rings.
Vineyards were relatively easy, with everything put in place.
But drug cartels… the fucking mafia… how was he supposed to start handling business with those other human lords?
He had to assert street dominance and take up the responsibility because, as much as he didn’t want to be a part of it, it wasn’t something he could just drop.
“Someone should place a call to Dylan,” Ethan said in a rough voice. “I need to see my uncle.”
Dylan, after all, had been a rugged man; he even owned several clubs. He was brutal—quicker to kill even than his father. Just slightly impulsive, maybe. His change had only been recent, when he met Ivanna.
If anyone could handle that part for him, it would be Dylan.
Imogen looked at him with a look that made him sense something was wrong. “I took him to the east wing, Ethan. He came to see your father but was caught unawares in the crossfire. He is alive, but he is hurt. Very badly.”
“How bad?” Ethan asked, stepping toward her.
“Very, very bad,” she said softly.
“I have to see him,” Ethan muttered.
“I cannot allow it.”
“Fuck.” He pushed past the kneeling guards, ignoring the way they murmured his name as he passed.
He walked through the hallways, his mind spinning. He had lost his mother and his sister simply because of Lorenzo. And now his father was gone, and the only man left who actually cared about him was dying in the next room. He felt like he was being stripped bare, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but this title he never wanted.
He reached the door to his father's bedroom. It was a place he usually avoided, but he felt pulled to it now. He pushed the door open and walked inside. The room smelled like the expensive cologne Lorenzo used. It was weird; it was almost like he was still alive and in that very place.
He walked over to the nightstand, his eyes landing on a small, leather frame. He picked it up with a shaking hand. It was a photo of his mother. She was holding a baby—him—and his sister was standing next to her, laughing at the camera.
“You kept this,” Ethan whispered, his eyes filling with tears.
He had always thought his father didn't care, especially since he was responsible for what happened to them. He thought the man was just a machine made of rules and blood. But he had kept this photo right next to his bed for only God knew how many years. Every night, the "monster" had looked at the family he had killed.
Was it a way to make himself feel better?
Did guilt eat him up every day?
Did he regret the choices he had made?
Questions flooded his mind.
Ethan’s knees gave out, and he hit the floor hard. He clutched the photo to his chest and let out a sob that sounded like it was being ripped from his throat. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Ethan gasped, his body shaking with ragged, silent cries. “I’m so sorry.”
He felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He did not have to look up to know it was Zara.
She sat down on the floor next to him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head onto her chest.